Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Death Becomes Her

I developed a stomach virus and possibly kidney infection smack in the middle of my last ever law school finals. It was as fun as it sounds. Blurgh.

At the risk of sounding like a martyr (okay, okay, it's a risk I gleefully take on a daily basis), I got sick at/after the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. COME ON! Here I am, trying to do good, help others, fight illness...and what do I get but projectile vomiting at my future in-laws' house at 11 a.m. on a Saturday morning?

Bah humbug.

To make matters worse, WAY worse, RightHand, his bro, and I attempted to make it back home that afternoon. But, of course, Atlanta was doing some massive highway repair because GOD FORBID L.A. pull ahead in the Race for the Worst Traffic for even one day out of the year. Around the Turner Field (our baseball stadium) exit, I started feeling a mass exodus organizing inside my body (see what I did there? I'm such a lady). We pulled off the highway only to be stuck in game day traffic. And a particularly dangerous ghetto. But at that point, I felt so sick, I was begging to be shot. It was a good thing the windows were rolled up.

We finally made it to a gas station, and RightHand ran inside to see if they had public restrooms, and came back out to tell me they were for patrons only. Before I could scream to him to buy a GD pack of gum, for the love of all that is good and holy, I threw up approximately six more times. There is nothing like puking in traffic when all you want is your jammies and a comfy bed.

Sweating profusely, alternating with chills, and feeling near death, I began begging for a hospital. Poor RightHand maneuvered to nearby parked ambulances where we were told, and I kid you not, that they were for game patrons only, and we would have to buy a ticket to the Braves game if I wanted help. O. M. G. Thanks anyway, I'll just DIE.

Luckily, I was again on that I-just-expelled-whatever-was-pissing-my-body-off-and-I-feel-great-now high, so we completed the awful, tedious trek to RightHand's apartment. I had chills and sweats for the rest of the day, briefly relieved by ginger ale, medicine, and cool wet washcloths to the forehead.

RightHand was a wonderful caretaker (aside from the next morning when he announced that sleeping so much had to be unhealthy(!!!)), and I got even more help at the urgent care clinic the next day. Goddess bless modern medicine.

Of note: For whatever reason, I was ridiculously emotional during this particular illness. I cried at sappy commercials, and the crinkle of the white Popsicle paper had me bawling to RightHand about my childhood summers. It was ridiculous, and he handled it like a champ. I think I'll keep him.

In the end, I ended up having to reschedule only one exam, but the paperwork and stress and bureaucracy of it all was nearly enough to make me relapse.